Meta rant on numbers
- 3 minsI never completely enjoyed the meals I had by myself – always sort of cold, or incomplete.
Turkish-Persian thinker Rumi said: “Loneliness is to God; all beings seek a wife.” Indeed, we need two arms to hug, two hearts to love. To define something, we use the opposite of it – for it is its complementary, its reason to be. Like night and day, black and white, good and evil. Can the Sun and the Moon be thought of separately?
I’ve always thought of odd numbers as defying this concept. They appear as outliers to this orderly way of living, unable to create or relate to a balancing and pacifying duality in the universe. Our efforts in creating something balanced out of odd numbers results in smaller pieces that are even more complex to work with.
Maybe that’s why we use them very frequently – in order to give some meaning to them, to show that we care, as part of our human conscience. We say, “Would you excuse us a minute?” for example. A hat trick, three goals, is something to be proud of in the sport of soccer. We ask ourselves “What would be the three things I would take with me to a deserted island?” There is only one winner, and sometime we desire to win so desperately, we say, “If only I had one more chance” – we would do anything to have that. To get into our dream school, we write single-spaced, one-page essays. As resilient and sturdy as the number “1” appears, it is also somewhat somber. “2” is tender-minded, sincere, and loving – that’s why we crown the “first”. All this meaning put onto the odd numbers is because we try to diminish their solitude, secludedness, and isolation – to conceal them.
Because we can’t stand being the “odd number” in our lives. We can’t go have fun in a couples-only club by ourselves. When the music starts playing we ask our partner to dance. “Are you crazy?” we say, “who would go there alone?” We find, or become, a fellow traveller to embark on an adventure. When a baby enters our lives and brings us happiness and joy, we say “He should have a sibling”, so he is not alone.
We are afraid to be alone, to be “odd” – and we assume that odd numbers are like us. That’s why we don’t want them to be sad. The loneliest pieces on the chessboard are the king and the queen, desperately suppressing a pitiful solitude under their noble appearance. The most cheerful ones, the pawns, chirp around everywhere. The rooks, bishops, and the knights always have their one eye on their counterparts – they always have each other’s back. When one loses the other, it grieves – because it’s alone.
Odd numbers deny to be divided because they define integrity – they are bigger than boundaries. They have the ability to organize and unite. Even numbers can be divided, and the pieces left lack unity and integrity, which creates create chaos and complexity. Odd numbers are perfect because they are above duality, and even numbers, which are human.
I had a way with numbers ever since I could remember. Even numbers accompany me with their cheerfulness and warm nature – they scurry around in the curves of my brain like mischievous, noisy kids. But odd numbers are timid, tender, and sensitive. Although they try to appear strong, I sometimes found them somewhere, gloomy and lonely. Sometimes they leave a piece of their own when divided – it hurts me. That’s why I like them all the better – because no one deserves to be alone.
Complete and utter nonsense? Leave a comment. Until next time!
İzge Bayyurt
Art / Science / Design